Miss Maylands frequently made use of this expression--a strong one in its way. "I know I ought," answered Vanbrugh with humility. "But you are not. You are a hypocrite, like all the rest of them." Dolly's face was grave, but she glanced at her companion as she spoke. "Of course I am a hypocrite. Life is too short. A man cannot waste his time in hacking his way through the ice mountain of truth when he may trot round to the other side by the path of tact." "I hate metaphors." "So do I." "Why do you use them, then?" "It is righteous to do the things one does not like to do, is it not?" "Not if they are bad." "Oh! then I am good, am I?" "Perhaps. I never make rash assertions." "No? You called me a hypocrite just now, and said I was like the rest of them. Was not that a rash assertion?" "Oh dear! You are too logical! I give it up." "I am so glad." For a few moments they walked along in silence, side by side, in the sunshine. They were a couple pleasant to look at, yet not very remarkable in any way. Dolly Maylands was tall--almost as tall as Vanbrugh, but much fairer. She had about her the singular freshness which clings to some people through life. It is hard to say wherein the quality lies, but it is generally connected with the idea of great natural vitality. There are two kinds of youth. There is the youth of young years, which fades and disappears altogether, and there is the youth of nature which is abiding, or which, at most, shrivels and dies as rose leaves wither, touched with faint colour, still and fragrant to the last. Dolly's freshness was in her large gray eyes, her bright chestnut hair, her smooth, clear skin, her perfect teeth, her graceful figure, her easy motion. But it was deeper than all these, and one looking at her felt that it would outlast them all, and that they would all try hard to outlast one another. For the rest, the broad brow showed thought, if not intellect, and the mouth, rather large for the proportion of the lower face, but not at all heavy, told of strength and courage, if not of real firmness. Dolly Maylands was large, well grown, thin, fresh and thoughtful, with a dash of the devil, but of a perfectly innocent devil, only a little inclined to laugh at his own good works and to prefer play to prayers, as even angels may when they are very young and healthy, and have never done anything to be sorry for. "You seem to be walking with me," observed Dolly presently. "Well--yes--I suppose that is the impression we are giving the expressman over there." "And in court, in one of your cases, if he were a witness, he would probably give the idea that we met in Lexington Avenue by appointment. By the bye, one does not walk in Lexington Avenue in the morning." "That is what we are doing," answered Vanbrugh imperturbably. "You know that it is compromising, I suppose." "So do you." "Then why do you do it?" "Why do we do it? Is that what you meant to ask?" "I did not mean anything."